


Jeeves and the Companionable Silences

by nothotbutveryspicy



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Fluff, M/M, POV Bertram "Bertie" Wooster, Pining, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:08:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25057471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothotbutveryspicy/pseuds/nothotbutveryspicy
Summary: On holiday in the French countryside, Bertie and Jeeves enjoy a few cigarettes and a few quiet moments together.
Relationships: Reginald Jeeves/Bertram "Bertie" Wooster
Comments: 26
Kudos: 96





	Jeeves and the Companionable Silences

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks all of you for the kudos and lovely comments on my first fic! Much appreciated <3
> 
> And thanks again to Lincoln_still_sucks for beta'ing :)

* * *

I’m never one to shy away from social gatherings or long stays in the familial country residence. No, ask anyone and they’ll tell you that this Wooster is as social as any social butterfly you’ll find pinned in a museum display case. There is a limit, however, and after spending two months with my Aunt Dahlia and cousin Angela in Cannes, and then being called to Market Snodsbury for this, and invited to Totleigh Towers for that, some solitary time was well overdue, dash it all.

At my request, Jeeves found us a nice little cottage in the French countryside. Rural, if you know what I mean. The cottage was situated on the top of a hill, and the garden was well stocked with plants and flowers, and there was shrubbage and hedgery dotted about the place. It was a quiet spot. Private, I mean to say, but still within walking distance of a cosy village. Far enough away from close relations, but, I dare say, not entirely cut-off from civilisation. The perfect place for Bertram to get some peace in solitude. Of course, Jeeves was along with me for the trip. Solitude, I find, is much more enjoyable when I have Jeeves as company.

It was one of the first nights of the holiday and I was out with a goal to paint the town red. The so-called town consisted of a couple of intersecting streets, and only a handful of establishments to drink in. Perhaps not much painting of the town would be taking place here. Most of the locals tended to drink standing out in the street and, certainly, it was warm enough for it. There seemed to me a type of freeness, a certain _je ne sais quoi,_ about it all. 

I had been embracing the local festivities and having a jolly good time to boot, until a chap I was drinking with spewed up his ring on the pavement, and that was the end of that. Like a switch, the spirits dropped and I decided to call it a night. 

In a way, I perhaps couldn’t have called it a night, as the sun had not set just yet, and was still hanging low in the sky, casting a rosy hue about the landscape. I toddled on up to the cottage, poured myself a glass of wine and settled back on the porch to enjoy the sounds of the garden fauna buzzing away, just taking it all in. The ambiance, you know. The cicadas and catydids and things made for an enjoyable evening chorus. I was only thinking how it would have been the cherry on top if Jeeves had been perched on the chair beside me, when I spied him at the bottom of the hill, making his way up.

I’ve spoken before about this uncanny ability that Jeeves has to float about everywhere, and this also seems to be the case outdoors, not just within the flat. The hill (or sheer mountain side) had been more than a bit of a struggle to climb for self, but I watched as he floated effortlessly up, through the garden gate and up the steps of the front porch.

“My apologies, sir. I had not expected you back so early.” He didn’t sound even a mite winded after his ascent, all that I detected in his voice was a touch of self-reproach, probably for not seeing to the young master’s needs of an evening. 

“No, Jeeves!” I feigned shock and disapproval, sitting up in my seat to get a good look at him. “You haven’t imbibed, have you?” 

“Please forgive me, sir-” he began before I interrupted with a hearty laugh, giving up the act. 

“No need, old thing. It’s your night off, and all that.” I waved away his apologies with a reassuring hand, and gestured for him to take the seat beside me. In the past I’m sure his feudal spirit would have kicked at the thought of sitting in the presence of his employer, but we’d become quite comfortable with one another in the time he’d been with me. 

“Did you enjoy your evening out, sir?” His eyes glittered with something as he sat down, and there was a lovely blush colouring his cheeks. Although with the sunset at full force by this point, and the fact that I had finished almost a half-bottle of a local red in the time it took Jeeves to ascend, I can admit I may have been mistaken. 

“Er, yes, Jeeves. Up to a point. When a chap empties the contents of his stomach in front of you, that sort of spells the end of the revelry, what?“ 

“Indeed, sir.” He quirked a sympathetic eyebrow.

“Care for a cigarette?” I placed one between my lips and held out the case to Jeeves. He gazed straight at me, not reaching out to take one.

“Oh, do go on, Jeeves.” I rolled my eyes exasperatedly, and waggled the case at him. 

There was a flicker of amusement about his face at that, then he leaned forward, took a cigarette and placed it between his own lips. He had already manifested a lighter and held it up to light my cigarette first before he leaned back and lit his own. With a click, the lighter apparently vanished again. 

In all the time Jeeves has been in my employ, he’s lit thousands of cigarettes for me, I dare say. There was, however, some thingummy about him lighting mine first before lighting his own that had my heart fluttering like a hummingbird. My face felt like it was burning, but I blamed it on the heat from the lighter, or perhaps I had caught a touch of sun during the day. 

“So you enjoyed your evening then, Jeeves?” I asked after a few moments of our puffing away in silence, apart from all the creatures that were still chirruping away contentedly in the foliage, of course.

“Yes, sir, thank you. I passed the time playing cards with some of the locals.” He spoke in a quiet voice, warm like the sun that was setting around us and the sound of it soothed me. 

“I’m sure you emptied their pockets, Jeeves.” I said, a mixture of pride and laughter colouring my voice. 

In response, Jeeves patted his waistcoat and there was a gentle clinking of coins. He smiled a secret smile, his eyes twinkling again, before he took a long drag of his cigarette. The air was pulled from my lungs as the smoke flowed into his, and I had to divert my gaze to the flowers in the garden. Their little buds were settling down for the night, most of them half, if not fully closed by this time. 

It can be dashed awkward, don’t you know, when you’re with company but can’t think of a single thing to say. Then there are other times, maybe with a pal you’ve been at school with, and the lulls in conversation feel comfortable. Companionable, even. With Jeeves, I’m glad to say it’s always been the latter. We have travelled together quite a bit, and do spend quite a lot of time in one another’s company, and so we chat about this and that to pass the time. And there is no better man to pass the time chatting with than Jeeves. It is known to all and sundry that he is an excellent conversationalist, beyond compare, I dare say. If you wish to discuss poetry, history, philosophy, or anything else, well, Jeeves is your man. On the other hand, however, I’m glad for the comfort in our quiet moments too, where we can both exist next to each other and words need not be spoken. 

In the stillness, I found my eyes returning to look upon Jeeves’ fine face. The sun had fully disappeared below the horizon at this point, but there was light enough to allow me to admire his profile. The thought only crossed my mind that I should not dare let my eyes linger too long on said profile, as bally gorgeous though it may be. A soft, contented sigh loosed itself from Jeeves and I dragged my eyes away to look out on the landscape once more, lest he notice my ogling. Large fluffy clouds spread across the sky, it was likely the moon and stars would not be visible tonight. I knew Jeeves had plenty of quotations about the stars and other celestial bodies, but I’d have no excuse to ask about them were they not twinkling about above us. Pity, I thought to myself, I liked it when he quoted poetry for me. 

A polite cough interrupted my reverie just then, and Jeeves spoke. 

“I ought to bed, sir. I’d like to go fishing tomorrow morning, if I may.”

“Yes, yes, of course, old thing. Have to keep that brain of yours in tip-top condition, what?” A tremulous laugh escaped my lips with these words. 

He indulged me with another smile, bade me goodnight and shimmered away into the cottage, leaving me to hope for a clearer night tomorrow. 

* * *

The next night Jeeves expressed his desire to visit the dance-hall in the village, and who was I to deny him? I was venturing into town for the evening myself and I saw no reason he shouldn’t go shuffle a two-step, or what have you. We were on our holidays, I mean to say, and there was no need for him to shut himself in the cottage at the top of the hill, away from civilisation, while the young master was out for a night of merriment also.As with the previous night, the merriment of this one was cut short too. 

Having been a visitor to the Gallic region before, I was quite adept at the lingo. A dash of _bien-s_ _û_ _r_ , a sprinkle of _excusez-moi_ , and a few _oui oui_ ’s thrown in here and there for good measure. Obviously impressed by the ease with which I spoke _les phrases,_ a local beazel fastened herself to this Wooster quite early on and although I moved from establishment to establishment, I just couldn’t shake her. I was on this trip to escape engagements and entanglements, dash it, and as soon as there was an opening I legged it from the place to make my way back to the cottage. 

I was trudging up the hill with great effort, my heavy breathing joining the choir of night creatures in their evening melody, when I heard a familiar voice from behind me

“I trust you passed a pleasant evening, sir.” He tipped his hat and spoke in that soupy way that he does when he is quite sure that I _hadn’t_ passed a pleasant evening, thank you very much.

It was a struggle to continue walking up the hill while speaking and not collapse in a heap, so my side of the conversation was a bit stunted, as I gasped for air between each couple of words and tried to keep pace with him. 

“Evening, Jeeves.” Pause for breath. “Beazel was clinging on, don’t you know.” Pause for breath. “Had to make my escape before-” Another pause for breath. “Came here as a reprieve from engagements.” Great, gasping, pause for breath. 

“Apologies, sir, we may slow our pace. The ascent is quite steep.” The man was not affected one iota. I had seen him laden down with groceries, like a pack mule, making his way uphill with impressive speed, and he wasn’t a touch out of breath when he greeted me at the top. And it was the same last night when he floated to the top of the hill like a bally balloon. 

Noticing the sardonic tone in his voice, I turned to see a smirk tugging at his mouth. I choked on the witty retort with which I tried to bite back, and I hoped it sounded enough like a laugh that I could pass it off as such. 

We continued our climb, side-by-side, in what couldn’t be described as silence in any sense, as I was panting quite harshly, but it was companionable all the same. My trudging footsteps were all the more palpable when compared with Jeeves’ light, effortless tread. His breathing remained even, and he could’ve been strolling along a sandy beach somewhere for how calm his bearing was. The man must do Swedish exercises and run a hundred laps ‘round the living room each morning. Was this fitness something that went hand-in-hand with valeting or a result of something else? 

Finally, and thankfully, we reached the apex. Jeeves swept ahead of me at the final furlong and opened the gate with a gentle squeak. The gate squeaked, I mean, not Jeeves. Dashed odd, if Jeeves went about the place squeaking, what? 

He held the gate open and gestured me through with a low bow and an ostentatious flourish, amusement still playing upon his map. I felt a thrill to be of some amusement to him, and so, still puffing, I sauntered through the gate with my nose in the air and returned my own exaggerated bow in thanks, and finished with a breathless giggle. For my silly display, I was rewarded a soft, crinkly-eyed smile which only made catching my breath all the more difficult. 

“Feel quite like that Greek chappie rolling his boulder up a hill.” I choked out, parking myself on the porch steps.

“Sisyphus, sir.” Jeeves supplied, moving to stand beside me. 

“How did he manage? Must have been one muscular fellow.” 

“Indeed, sir.”

I felt in desperate need of a gasper after that exertion. Apparently anticipating that need before the thought was fully formed in my brain, Jeeves was already holding a cigarette case out to me. I took one gratefully, no doubt awe for this brilliant man evident in my expression, and tentatively patted the space on the step beside me.

“Won’t you join me, Jeeves?”

He shimmered for a fraction of a second and was then seated beside me, a cigarette between his lips and his thigh pressing softly against mine. I wasn’t sure if he noticed how close he was, I mean, he had to be aware, hadn’t he? I didn’t wish to point it out, however, in case he moved away, so I held my tongue and tried my best not to tremble like an aspen.

Again, Jeeves lit my cigarette first, and as he leaned in close to do so I could smell his cologne, and the heady scent induced a dizziness in the Wooster bean. I watched as Jeeves inhaled deeply from his cigarette and exhaled with a whooshing sigh, like a gentle breeze through the tall grass on a riverbed. With my head like a balloon full of helium, I gripped the porch step with one hand so as to not be blown away.

Hoping for some strength from the heavens above, I turned my eyes skyward and was glad to see some stars poking through the wispy clouds, although the moon was nowhere to be seen. I let my gaze linger for a while, catching a twinkle here and a glimmer there. The sight, not to mention the sounds from the familiar cricketing choir, had an altogether calming effect, and I felt myself momentarily fortified and primed to turn my eyes once more upon Jeeves. I must confess, the fortification, and quite a large amount of air was knocked right out of me again. 

Jeeves was watching me closely, a good deal of warmth softening his eyes and a small smile upon his lips. His gaze was steady and unwavering, and I was convinced that a gang of those cicada fellows had taken residence in the Wooster thorax and were fluttering about in there. 

“The stars, Jeeves.” I bleated, gesturing sheepishly towards the sky. The intensity of Jeeves’ stare was almost unbearable, and I needed him to look away to allow myself to recover the faculties. “A shame, don’t you think? They’re not quite visible tonight. Clouds, and whatnot.”

“Indeed, sir. Regrettable that they are so hidden. The stars are the jewels of the night, and perchance surpass anything which day has to show.” He didn’t even glance upwards to see if they _were_ hidden. Could have been flying saucers shooting about the place, but Jeeves seemed unmoved as though the presence or absence of stars didn’t bally well matter to him. 

“One of yours, Jeeves?” 

“No, sir.” 

He took another long inhale of his cigarette and breathed out billowing swirls into the warm night air. All the while, his eyes were firmly fixed on mine, and I could feel my face flaming up as the moment wore on. From the heat burning under my skin I was surprised I hadn’t begun melting into a bally puddle on the porch step. That would be quite a mess for Jeeves to clean up, however, so I was glad that I was retaining a solid form. Or, solid-ish.

Words and conversation escaped and evaded me, and had it been anyone else, I might have felt some panic or worry creeping in. But, it was Jeeves that I was sitting with, and as such, another hush in the chatter was no dilemma. A comfortable, companionable silence was again perceptible and as soon as I had perceived it, a tranquility descended upon the scene once more and I felt the temperature dropping to a normal human temperature in the Wooster cheeks. 

I watched, captivated, as Jeeves puffed away at his cigarette. Streams of smoke curling about the place. Even long after he had put it out, on the porch step we remained, pressed side by side, not a single word spoken, as this would have imposed upon the ethereal atmos.

Eventually, however, as with all things, this came to an end. Jeeves coughed a delicate cough and he spoke. 

“Please excuse me, sir. The hour is quite late. I must retire to bed.” His voice was barely above a whisper, and he made no move to rise. 

“Right ho.” My own voice was hushed too, and I must admit I felt not a little bit of disappointment that the evening was at a close. “Goodnight, Jeeves.”

“Goodnight, sir.” There was another short moment that we sat looking at one another before Jeeves rose and shimmered away.

I allowed a deep sigh to slip from the old lungs, and just as I was about to hang my head in my hands I noticed that my cigarette was still fixed between my fingers. I had been so enraptured by Jeeves smoking his cigarette, that I’d entirely forgotten about mine! And at that thought I felt the flames in my cheeks enlightened anew.

* * *

Our little holiday continued, and I was quite enjoying these evenings I passed with Jeeves on the porch. So much so, that I endeavored to return early each night to the cottage so that we could share a bottle of red from the local vineyard or smoke a few gaspers together. 

Jeeves didn’t always join me in the evenings, however, and I couldn’t bally well force him to, could I? No, that would not be very _preux_ , no indeed. Probably, Jeeves assumed that the young master wanted some alone time. We did escape to the French countryside to avoid aunts and cousins and such like, but surely Jeeves knew he didn’t fall under any category that includes aunts? Not in my eyes, dash it! And besides, I only really liked to be alone when Jeeves was there with me. 

This night, the one I’m talking about now, well, this particular night I decided to give Jeeves the night off again, but I was sure to arrive back at the cottage early. And so, huffing and puffing with clumping footsteps, upwards and upwards I climbed that blasted hill. We’d been here over a week now, and it was still as difficult an ascent as the first time, if not more so. Where the chirruping of the night insects had been a jolly sound before, now it sounded almost derisive and mocking. Look at that Wooster there, they may have tweeped, what a bally fool!

When I finally reached the summit, I doubled over and grasped at the garden gate for dear life. Folded in two, I gasped and heaved but there didn’t seem to be enough oxygen about to aid in my recovery. Sweat was beading at my forehead from the exertion, and my shirt was clinging to my back like a limpet. When my breathing had evened out somewhat, I made to open the gate and make my way up to the cottage for a restorative drink or several. 

However, it was at this moment that I noticed Jeeves sitting at the table on the porch, an open book laid out before him. He was observing me with more than a touch of amusement in his eyes. In fact, his mouth was twisted in a way that conveyed he could be holding back laughter. 

Dash it, he’d returned before me! Or perhaps he hadn’t even left the homestead at all.

“I make quite the spectacle, eh Jeeves?” I spluttered, and ascended the porch steps on shaky pins. 

“Not at all, sir.” His eyes were crinkling at the corners and his voice sounded strained, betraying that he was indeed holding in laughter. Perhaps this should have enraged the young master, but instead I loosed a jittery laugh of my own and felt my insides twist and twirl about. I plonked myself down heavily on the seat beside him.

“A cigarette, sir?” Jeeves offered his cigarette case, his voice sounded more controlled, but he smiled freely at me, now with less amusement colouring his features and more, I dare say, fondness.

I took a proffered cigarette and placed it between my lips, and Jeeves did the same. He braced himself against the back of my chair and I moved my face towards his as he moved his towards mine, very close, so that the ends of both our cigarettes were nearly touching. A lighter appeared in his hand, flickered on, and he brought it close and lit them. I watched as the ends burned bright red and I was sure the colour rushing to my cheeks matched. Our cigarettes were kindled and the lighter evaporated, but Jeeves didn’t move back as I expected he would, instead he stayed close with his arm still resting on my chair behind me, and once again the scent of his cologne induced a mighty light-headedness. I had always thought that, as a Wooster, I was made of sterner stuff, but it seems, when it comes to Jeeves at least, I have the constitution of a lovesick bunny rabbit.

I took a long drag, and averted my gaze into nature.The starlight illuminated some white flowers in the garden, which I had noticed were closed the previous nights. These were open now, and small flying things were swooping in and around them. Jeeves has told me since that these are nocturnal flowers. The moon was bright and full and accentuated Jeeves’ fine features. It was almost as if it wouldn’t dare be hidden behind a cloud and miss a moment of glowing upon his handsome face. Magnificently, there was nary a cloud in the sky and countless stars glittered against the darkness, and each one sparkled in his eyes. Well, dash it all, Madeleine Bassett has nothing on this Wooster, what?

“The stars, Jeeves.” I gasped reverently. 

“Yes, sir.” His gaze met mine, unfalteringly.

“Do you have any other quotes, Jeeves, about stars?” I asked timidly.

“When he shall die, take him and cut him out in little stars, and he will make the face of heaven so fine that all the world will be in love with night and pay no worship to the garish sun.”

“Oh!” 

The gentle sound was punched right out of my chest at his words and I found I didn’t have the mental faculties to say more than that, nor to do much else than stare straight at him. That must have been just fine for Jeeves, I dare say, as he beamed right back at me with an indulgent smile. My heart fluttered incessantly in my chest and I felt a tingling all over my body as I sat there gazing at him, gazing at me, gazing at him. 

Every evening after that, for the rest of our holiday, we spent together without fail. Often, Jeeves would share a few lines about the moon or stars. But, whether we spoke in close, hushed voices or not at all, I was profoundly grateful that our silences are, and continue to be, companionable. 

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
